Journal Entry: Lost in a Maze, Chasing Beauty

On wealth, growing up, and finding my own path

08 Aug 2015

Today I went to my wealthy uncle’s country home. It’s huge—big enough and decked out enough to make my jaw drop. I guess you could say I’m envious, but in a way it motivates me. It makes me think about what I would have to do to get a house like that.

I asked my aunt what direction I should go in for college. I’m not sure whether she understood me, but she said I should marry a wealthy man. I laughed.

My aunt married my uncle before he had earned his millions, but while telling me the story of how they met, she mentioned that she knew he was someone who would earn a lot of money. She said he could talk to people well and establish communication.

My dad said—later, of course—that in actuality, my uncle didn’t care about anyone except himself. He talked about how my mother would send my uncle money while he was in the army, all the kind things she did for him. My dad emphasized that my uncle seemed to forget about us when we needed help.

So now I don’t know. I would love to live in wealth, but if I need to marry a cruel and uncaring person for it, I don’t think I would. Wealth is so relative anyway. Comparing yourself to others is how you judge things like who is rich and who is poor. If I just stop comparing myself to others, this horrible feeling will probably go away eventually. I wish I were content with my situation. (I mean, I am, generally. It’s just moments like this that make me feel iffy.)

I wonder if their children realize how lucky they are. They get anything they want. It’s astounding.

Whenever I start feeling like this, I remind myself that I know English and am more culturally experienced. Living in New York City has exposed me to so many things and people, and that is beautiful. Honestly, I don’t think that’s something money can ever buy.

I miss New York. I wish I could walk around Greenpoint right now, smiling and talking to someone about something interesting, something beautiful.

Recently, I’ve realized I am quick to judge whether something is beautiful. It’s because beauty is everywhere. My relatives laugh at me when I call an abandoned house “beautiful,” but that’s because it is. That house, standing still, waiting for someone to return and do something—that in itself is beautiful.

People are way too negative. I’ve been paying more attention to the way people are and what they say, and it affects me—a sad effect, to be honest. I wish I were still little and stuck in my own world. I wasn’t happy, but at least I wasn’t sad.

I’m growing up, I guess. I wish it weren’t true. I wish I could stay inside and read all day, not really talk to anyone. I did that for eleven years. Why not now?

I think I’m going to join a programming, coding, or art class next summer. I need something to keep me occupied. Otherwise, I start drifting like a balloon heading toward thunderclouds. Let’s be honest—I’m generally just a balloon floating around. Easily popped and always off the ground.

I am lost in a maze, but I am still happy. Trying to be happy, at least. There isn’t much I can do other than keep walking, looking for an exit. Even as I wander, there is the lingering thought that I might never escape. It terrifies me, but I try to keep my smile.

Beyond the maze walls is a wide, open space. It’s white, empty, full of opportunities. It waits for me to arrive, and to create something in that space. But I’m scared I’ll never get there.

I have to reach it. I can’t just be this floating entity that never manages to create something beautiful.